


pensaba que te había olvida'o

by rjtondale



Series: oasis team [2]
Category: Bad Bunny, J. Balvin - Fandom, Music RPF, Reggaetón Music RPF
Genre: Best Friends, Concerts, Friends to Lovers, Hotel Sex, M/M, Oasis, Oasis Team, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Reunion Sex, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:53:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28437936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rjtondale/pseuds/rjtondale
Summary: I missed you, Jose thinks. He wants to say it out loud, but the words won’t come. Instead, he lets Benito’s hug squeeze the life out of him, thinking it over and over and over:I missed you, I missed you, I missed you.“I missed you,” Benito murmurs into his ear.“No, you didn’t,” Jose laughs. “You were too busy with René to think of me.”
Relationships: Bad Bunny/J Balvin (Musician)
Series: oasis team [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1462381
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	pensaba que te había olvida'o

_I missed you_ , Jose thinks. He wants to say it out loud, but the words won’t come. Instead, he lets Benito’s hug squeeze the life out of him, thinking it over and over and over: _I missed you, I missed you, I missed you._

“I missed you,” Benito murmurs into his ear.

“No, you didn’t,” Jose laughs. “You were too busy with René to think of me.”

“That’s not true,” Benito says. He steps back from the hug to look Jose full in the face. He’s serious; that much is clear.

“No?”

“No. Not true. I thought of you every minute.”

Jose doesn’t know how to respond to that. It’s mutual, of course. They didn’t talk every day in their months apart, but the days of silence were torturous. Every little thing seemed to remind him of his friend. Every new song, every news story about him _hurt_ deep in his chest. And many nights — not every night, but many, when he was alone and it was quiet — he lay awake thinking about that party.

Now, on the other side of that agonizing show, they’re face-to-face again. They touched only twice on stage, once to shake hands, and once when Benito threw his arm around Jose mid-song. Luckily for Jose, the latter was during one of Benito’s verses. With his arm around him like that, Jose nearly forgot where he was and what he was supposed to be doing.

And now they’re in Jose’s hotel room. How did they get to Jose’s hotel room?

He wants to rip that damn mask off Benito’s face. It should be illegal to cover up lips that perfect, especially when they’re saying something like _I thought of you every minute._

Suddenly Jose realizes that he hasn’t said anything back. He says the first thing that pops into his head, then immediately regrets it.

“Phones work both ways, you know.”

Even behind the mask, Jose can see Benito purse his lips. Just as Jose is about to say something else, Benito says, “I know.”

No argument. No counter-challenge. Who is this man? Something has changed, but Jose can’t quite put his finger on what. This isn’t like the last time they saw each other; they’re not laughing tonight. Jose feels the same, and Benito _felt_ the same in Jose’s arms, but something is wrong.

“Take the mask off, Benito,” Jose says, and Benito does. For a moment, Jose thinks Benito is going to throw it at him, but he tosses it into a chair instead.

Jose wants to kiss him, or maybe do more than kiss him. No, definitely do more than kiss him. This isn’t like the last time they saw each other — but maybe it could be.

“Benito,” Jose says.

“What,” Benito says.

“Go fuck yourself,” Jose says, praying that Benito will remember, that he will respond the right way. He wants to squeeze his eyes shut, but he can’t show that weakness. He holds Benito’s gaze, unwavering.

There’s a long pause. Too long.

“Jose,” Benito says at last, “why don’t you fuck me instead?”

Jose’s laugh comes out half-sigh, or maybe his sigh comes out half-laugh. Benito raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t smile. “Okay,” Jose says. “If you insist.”

“Did you bring condoms this time?”

“No.”

Benito still doesn’t crack. “And here I thought you’d be prepared.” 

Jose was ready to respond, but not to that. He opens his mouth, then closes it. He _was_ prepared, but only with words. _I missed you_ , for one, and something about how he’s only still partnered in the most technical sense of the word, how they never see each other and it’s probably almost over, anyway. He thought he was prepared, at least.

Instead of any of that, he says, “Do you want to see me on my knees again, then?”

“I want —” Benito starts, and then he cuts himself off. Before Jose can react, Benito has one hand on his arm, the other on the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. It’s a hard, desperate kiss, like maybe Jose will disappear if he lets go.

But Jose isn’t the one who disappears. “Oh, qué romántico,” he murmurs into Benito’s lips.

They both smile, and somehow that softens the kiss. It’s a proper kiss now; it hardly even feels like the lead-in to more. It’s not a challenge. It’s an _I missed you._ They’re clinging to each other like if they don’t let go, they won’t be separated again. Jose thinks a lot of things he can’t say out loud. 

“Yes,” Benito says.

Jose echoes, “Yes?”

“Yes,” Benito repeats, “I want to see you on your knees again.”

Jose kisses Benito again, then takes a step back. Benito shrugs off his jacket, and the light glinting off the bunny-head pendant around his neck nearly blinds Jose. “You’re still wearing it,” Jose says.

Benito touches the smiley face on Jose’s chest. “You’re not.”

“I do, though,” Jose says. “Sometimes.”

“Sometimes.”

Jose doesn’t know what to say to that. The smiley-face necklace is suddenly way too heavy, so he lifts it over his head and sets it on the table. He’d rather throw it out the window. His shirt follows soon after. Memories from _last time_ are so strong that he could drown in them, so vivid it’s like it all happened yesterday.

But it wasn’t last night; it was so long ago. So much time, and yet Jose hasn’t wanted anyone this badly since, not even his actual girlfriend. Suddenly the room feels way too cold, and Benito way too far away.

“Do you want me against the wall again?”

_He remembers, too._ Jose forces himself to nod.

Benito doesn’t kiss Jose, but he does take him by the arms and pull him along as he walks backward. They’re so close. Breathing each other’s air. Warm.

When they reach the wall, Jose drops, carefully undoes Benito’s pants and pulls them down. He’s trying to be more careful this time, but he wants it so badly that his hands are shaking. He’s just about to touch Benito’s cock, hear that moan he’s heard in his dreams so many times, when something catches his eye. He touches the tattoo on Benito’s thigh instead.

Benito sucks in a sharp breath, and Jose looks up. “Don’t touch it,” Benito says.

“Is it new?”

“No.”

“Is it the —”

“No. Please, just —” Benito’s voice breaks, and he looks away.

As badly as Jose wants this, wants _him_ , he can’t do it like this. He starts to stand up; Benito puts his hand on his shoulder like he’s going to hold him down, but he doesn’t actually offer any resistance when Jose stands. Jose studies Benito’s face, then touches his cheek. There’s a flicker of _something_ in Benito’s usually-unreadable face.

Benito closes his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Jose thinks about saying something semi-teasing: _no you want me on my knees, no you want me to fuck you, no you want me,_ but that flicker is stronger now. “Can I just ask —”

“No.”

“I can’t ask, or that’s the answer?”

No way can Benito read his mind. There’s no way he knows what Jose was about to ask. It could be anything.

“Both. You can’t ask. And I haven’t broken up with her.”

Oh. Maybe he did know.

“You haven’t, either.”

Jose shakes his head. He can’t say “no” out loud.

“Would you?”

And he still can’t say “no” out loud. He hasn’t. But would he?

“I thought not,” Benito says.

“I haven’t answered.”

“You didn’t answer. That’s an answer.”

Jose steps back. He can’t keep the irritation out of his voice when he asks, “Do you want this, ¿o qué? Because I sure as hell do, but I’m not you. I’m not going to… convince you the way you convinced me.”

Benito lets out a surprised laugh. “Convinced you? Is that what happened?”

It is. Isn’t it? The memory is so clear, but how many details has he forgotten and refilled? It wouldn’t be the first time. They’re still so close. Benito is still against the wall. They’re still half-naked, still breathing each other’s air.

“Fuck you,” Jose says.

“That’s all I’m asking for,” Benito says.

“That’s all you’re asking for,” Jose says at the same time. A beat passes. “Yeah, I remember.”

Benito bites his lip and stares at Jose. Jose forces himself to meet his gaze, not to break eye contact like he did last time. There’s no denying it now. “I really did miss you,” Benito says.

“Sure.”

“I want this so bad.”

“Hm.”

Jose didn’t think he was the type to want to hear someone beg, but this is kind of hot. He can’t decide whether he wants to let Benito go on or end their shared suffering right now. He resists the urge to reach down and touch — well, himself or Benito, he’d decide when he got there.

Before he can make any decisions, though, Benito says, “I want _you_ so bad.”

Ah, fuck. Benito is looking him dead in the eye. He’s not hard to read now — it’s want, or maybe _need_ , more than just a challenge. Still, Jose isn’t going to let him off the hook quite that easily.

“I guess I was pretty good, then, hm?”

Benito’s brow furrows in confusion, but Jose doesn’t waver. Doesn’t _externally_ waver, anyway. He knows he’ll remember.

After a second, he does. Benito almost laughs, but it comes out more like a scoff. “Cabrón.”

Jose smiles. He knows he’s won, at least for now. He kisses Benito again hard — maybe a little too hard; Benito’s head hits the wall — and Benito kisses back. As badly as Jose wants Benito’s cock in his mouth, he can’t break the kiss now, so he reaches down and takes it in his hand instead. Benito sighs heavily into Jose’s mouth.

“Bed, now,” Jose murmurs, and they go.

Benito nearly trips on his own pants, grabbing Jose’s arm to steady himself. They laugh, same as last time, and Jose thinks something about learning a lesson that doesn’t quite settle into a full sentence before they hit the bed.

Jose lifts Benito’s shirt over his head, and Benito yanks Jose’s pants off. Jose looks down on Benito lying under him on the bed. He wants to memorize his face.

But he can’t stay back that long. They kiss again, just as hard as before. They can’t seem to stop kissing, not just on the mouth, but on their necks, collarbones, ears, licking and biting and touching everywhere they can reach. Careful, but not that careful, not to leave any visible marks.

Jose finally goes down again, putting the palm of his hand squarely over the palm tree tattoo. With one hand and his mouth, he works Benito the way he remembers he likes it. He hasn’t done this since that night, though the opportunity arose more than once, but he remembers. This is what he’s dreamt about more times than he’d like to admit. The feeling and the sound, God, the _sound_ of Benito’s moans, Benito saying his name over and over, the deep shuddering sighs, the ragged breaths in between.

He could do this all day if Benito could last, which Jose already knows he can’t. He kisses, then bites Benito’s hip. Benito lets out a choked sound that’s almost a laugh.

Jose comes back up. Benito’s eyes are squeezed shut and he looks like breathing steadily is taking most of his concentration. Now Jose studies his face again, focused on his own breathing, too. One hand on Benito’s chest, the other holding himself up, Jose can’t take his eyes off Benito’s lips.

When Benito opens his eyes, he catches Jose staring, but he doesn’t ask any questions. He pulls Jose down on top of him. They kiss again, long and slow. The phrase _making love_ crosses Jose’s mind, but he pushes it away. They’re fucking, nothing more.

“My turn?” Benito asks. The words vibrate in Jose’s mouth.

As badly as Jose wants to say yes, saying yes would mean they’d have to stop kissing, and that thought is nearly unbearable. Instead, he takes Benito’s hand and guides it down. They’re not close enough — they’re consuming each other, skin on skin, but it’s not close enough.

Jose doesn’t say that, though. They don’t speak except to murmur each other’s names.

Finally, Benito, still bigger than Jose and stronger this time than he was last time, flips them over and pins Jose to the bed by his wrists. Jose’s eyes widen. He could easily break out, but he doesn’t want to. He wraps one leg around one of Benito’s.

“I remember last time, too,” Benito says.

“Do you?” Jose manages to reply.

Benito licks his lips, those perfect beautiful full lips, and Jose almost looks away. “Sure,” Benito says. “Your terms.”

“Right.”

“So it’s my turn.”

Benito goes down before Jose can protest, not that he would really want to protest anyway. He’d remembered how good Benito’s cock felt in his mouth, but somehow forgotten how fucking great it was the other way around. He forces himself to stop thinking about last time, and then lets himself stop thinking about anything at all.

Jose’s mouth forms syllables that may or may not make Benito’s name. He can only hope he’s not saying anything he might regret.

They manage to hold on longer this time, but not by much. Jose pulls Benito up to kiss him again fiercely, and if asked later, neither would be able to say who came first.

Benito collapses on top of Jose instead of beside him. He crushes Jose’s chest, but Jose doesn’t mind. His breath is hot in Jose’s ear, his skin sticky. Jose can feel both their heartbeats, not quite in sync. He wraps his arms around Benito.

Finally, for the first time aloud, he says, “I missed you.”

Benito hums in response. He rolls off; Jose moves away at the last second so Benito doesn’t land on his arm. The sudden release of pressure makes his chest feel empty, too light. They’re still touching, though, and the spot where their shoulders meet is warm.

For a moment, Jose thinks Benito has fallen asleep. His eyes are closed and his breathing is steady. He doesn’t move.

But Jose can’t stand the silence, the emptiness of his chest. He has to know. “What happened to the picture?”

“What picture?” Benito doesn’t bother to open his eyes.

“You know what picture. The one… the one that will last longer.”

“Oh.”

Beat. Breath. Jose almost says something else, but Benito gets there first.

“I deleted it,” he says.

“Like hell you did.”

Benito opens his eyes, but doesn’t look at Jose. “What if I did?” he asks the ceiling.

“Really? You’re going to lie to me now?”

Another long pause. Jose can feel Benito weighing the truth, chewing on a lie. He closes his eyes again. “I set it as your contact photo,” he says. “It kept me from calling you.”

And Jose doesn’t know how to respond to that. He thinks about asking the same question he asked last time, but he can’t quite remember the exact words, and Benito didn’t answer before, anyway.

“I don’t want to go back,” Benito says softly.

There’s no party. Nothing else he could mean.

“Me neither,” Jose says.

“But I guess we have to.”

“Yeah.”

But neither of them move. Not closer and not farther apart. Benito doesn’t get up and quietly clean himself up, and Jose doesn’t reach for his hand. Their shoulders touch. Jose hears the music from the party, but he can’t quite place the song. As badly as he wants to, he doesn’t say a word.


End file.
